A Handful of Stars
by Caracandal
Summary: (Not Slash) Harry Potter is back at Hogwarts as a professor, and he and Snape still hate each other. That doesn't change the fact that they must work together to help an abused child. Updated!
1. Prologue: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Prologue: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream 

Even as an adult well into his twenties, Harry Potter dreamed. His dreams were not of or from Voldemort, although destruction caused by him was there. They did not deal with the many escapades he had been involved in during his years as a student at Hogwarts—but the leading characters were those children he had grown up with. The Ministry of Magic was not featured prominently, except for the logos on the robes of fallen Aurors.

In short, Harry Potter dreamt of Death and Battle. He was, he often thought bitterly, far too well acquainted with Death. Death was a stealthy trickster, able to take someone down quickly and painlessly or able to linger, just out of reach, while looking mercilessly down on the human that whimpered and prayed for the cessation of life. Battle, too, was brother to Death, able to sneak up on the unprepared before turning vicious and loud, and providing a plethora of victims for his brother to choose from.

On this night in the beginning of August, Harry woke up gasping for air, his vision still filled with the haunted eyes of George Weasley as he cradled his twin's blood-covered body. Sitting up and breathing into his hands for a moment to steady himself, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood. He stared around at the dark hardwood floor and pale creamy walls of his bedroom before remembering where he was.

Hogwarts. After all this time exploring the world, avoiding Dumbledore and Hermione, ignoring the press and public admiration, Harry Potter had finally come home to England to take up the once-again vacant Defense Against the Dark Arts post. He thought about his new job, starting in less then a month, and the young students whose lives would depend on how well he taught them.

He saw the faces of the friends he had led into battle superimposed over the imaginary faces of those children he would teach, and alone in the dark, Harry Potter shuddered.


	2. Chapter One: A State of Controlled Chaos

**Chapter 1: A State of Controlled Chaos **

Hogwarts was experiencing a state of controlled chaos, which meant that the students had arrived. Professor Snape, whose dark hair had begun mellowing to gray a few years before, sat brooding in his seat at the Head Table. Students ran into the Great Hall, shouting for friends and pets they had been unable to locate on the train.

"Abigail! Abby! How was your summer?"

"Really? You didn't!"

"What classes did you sign up for? I don't like Charms much, but need it—want to be an Auror, you know."

"Has anyone seen my cat?"

"Did you hear about the new Defense professor?"

The inane conversations blended together into a hazy whirl of sound, which Professor Snape was all too happy to ignore. He continued his elective deafness straight through dinner, pretending that he hadn't heard the announcement of Potter as the new Defense professor (he would be damned if he'd clap), Trelawny's whispery predictions on his left, and Dumbledore's jovial comments to his right that Snape should, "Eat up, eat up! You are far too thin, my boy." The older he got, the wiser and more mothering Dumbledore became. Several of the other older professors found it endearing—Professor Snape only felt nauseated.

It was with a profound sense of relief that Snape rose from the table and made his escape the instant Dumbledore dismissed everyone. Gliding through the crowd of students—most of whom were all too happy to get out of his way, creating a clear path—the professor gave the appearance of Moses parting the Red Sea. He was almost out the door when it happened.

A student voluntarily spoke to him.

Wondering irritably which dunderhead was stupid enough to stop him on the first day back, Professor Snape whirled around, sending his robes billowing impressively.

"Well, Miss Drake?" His voice was at its silkiest, most dangerous tone.

Miss Drake, a second-year Ravenclaw with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes, squeaked nervously. She licked her suddenly dry lips and tried to keep her voice from shaking—her hands already were. Looking up to meet his eyes (if she leaned her head any further back she'd do herself an injury, Professor Snape thought with slightly grim amusement) Miss Drake managed to force out, "I-it's Jon, s-sir. J-jonathan B-b-blake. He's m-missing, sir."

Snape raised one eyebrow. She'd stopped him because she couldn't spot one of her dunderhead friends? _This_ was why she had decided to interrupt his escape? With a sneer, he advised, "You are a witch, Miss Drake. I would suggest that you study up on locating charms, especially if you remain at a ridiculously small height for the rest of your life. It will very quickly irritate those around you if you are always asking them to look over others' heads for you. Five points from Ravenclaw for disturbing a teacher. Another word to me tonight and it will be another ten, and continue to grow exponentially." Assuming the absurd conversation was over, the potions master spun on his heel to continue leaving the now mostly empty Hall.

Perhaps Miss Drake should have been in Gryffindor, for she mustered her courage and spoke again. "But, sir—I tried a locating ch-charm. Jon isn't at H-hogwarts."


	3. Chapter 2

By the time the new Professor Potter had made his way to the little house on Tansell Road where Jonathan Blake lived with his mother, he had managed to thoroughly confuse himself. It simply did not make sense. Standing at the foot of the splintering porch steps, Harry Potter ran through the bizarre facts in an effort to piece them together in a logical matter.

Fact: Jonathan Blake was a second-year Ravenclaw.

Fact: Blake was currently not at Hogwarts and his mother had not notified Dumbledore of any change in plans.

Fact: Severus Snape hated all children, but especially those who were not in Slytherin.

Fact: Snape had first listened to the worries of a second-year who was not in his house; second, he had cast a locating spell of his own to determine that what she had said was true; and third, he had demanded that Dumbledore send someone to the Blake home that very night instead of waiting until the next day.

Fact: none of this made any sense.

Why, Harry wondered, not for the first time, why was Snape so concerned? The boy was in Ravenclaw! It just wasn't like the greasy—now graying!—git to be so worked up over something that didn't involve a Slytherin student.

And then, Harry actually looked at the house in front of him.

The porch had once been painted green, but the paint had faded and the wood was splintering. The tan paint on the house, harshly illuminated by the porch light, was peeling. There was duct tape and cardboard over a broken windowpane in the window next to the door.

The new professor felt a wave of unease pass through him. Although Harry told himself that it was wrong to judge people based on the appearance of their home—the Dursley's house had been immaculate, after all—the war taught him to trust his instincts. And his instincts clamored that there was something very, very wrong at the Blake family residence.

Then he saw the blood.


End file.
